


In Which Percival Despises Dancing and Lancelot Does Not

by HalfAnachronism



Series: Percilot [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Crack, Dancing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:32:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfAnachronism/pseuds/HalfAnachronism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Again, sorry for the awful title and summary. This is the first thing I wrote when I tried to write borsival-gives-me-life's request of fluffy Percilot dancing, and I decided it wasn't fluffy enough and wrote another thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Percival Despises Dancing and Lancelot Does Not

The first time Percy had ever danced was, in all technicalities, at a work party.

Arthur had rented out a local theatre’s ballroom for the annual Kingsman ball, a tradition Percy thought was pointless. They were spies, _professionals_ , and he’d been told thousands of times since he’d joined the Kingsmen that this job wasn’t like a Bond film: there would be no fancy romance or fame or anything like that. Just good old-fashioned saving the world, with no recognition whatsoever for it. Percy liked this idea, that he could do good without having lights shined on him for it, because being the center of attention was the last thing he’d ever wanted.

This year, Percy had no intentions of going to the ball, because he’d never been before and really couldn’t care less. He had work to do, plans to make and paperwork to finish, he didn’t have time to waste watching his fellow agents get slightly drunk in a fancy setting. But this year, Arthur _insisted_. Percy had started to argue with Arthur, but then was told by his boss to shut up and find some dancing shoes because he was going to attend at least one ball whether he liked it or not, goddammit.

So Percy went to the ball. He found himself a place on the sidelines of the ballroom, watching the other agents chat and drink expensive wine. Within moments, he was bored out of his mind and ready to leave, but he knew that Arthur had his eye on him and didn’t want him leaving, so he remained where he was, trying to occupy himself by studying the architecture of the exquisite place or trying to match the composer to the piece of music that was playing gently over the speakers.

“Fancy a drink?” said an all-too-familiar voice.

Percy turned to see James, the bane of his existence. James was too perky, too fun, too handsome. He was exactly the kind of person Arthur claimed he didn’t want as a Kingsman: the kind who thought the life of a spy was exactly like the movies. Percy tried to avoid James whenever he could, but James always tracked him down with a certain voracity that concerned Percy. And, as he should’ve expected, James had found him in the swarm of people at the party, and was now offering him a glass of something.

Percy reluctantly took the glass that James was offering, and was greeted with a grin. He swirled the dark liquid around in the glass, and sniffed it cautiously. “What’s in this, Lancelot?”

“No clue. It’s probably some thousand-year-old wine or whatever. And please, call me James.”

Percy drank from the glass and wasn’t surprised at a taste as boring as the ball he was attending. “Well, it’s, uh....” he said, trying to find the right words that would make James go away, “It sure is interesting.”

“‘Tis. So, how’re you enjoying this fine evening?”

Percy ditched his original plan of being polite until James fucked off and complained nonchalantly, “I’m not. It’s fucking boring.”

“That’s true. Nothing says capitalism and aristocracy like shitty wine and Beethoven.”

“I’ll toast to that.”

“Yup.” James took a long drink from his glass and continued, “So, care to dance?”

Percy looked at James. “What?”

“They’re playing Mozart and people are dancing. Let’s join those people. It’ll make the evening less boring.”

“The people who are dancing are the rich old men and their wives.”

“So? We’re _Kingsmen_ , Percy, we’re going to end up rich old men eventually, why not have a little fun with dancing before we can barely move our joints anymore?”

“ _You_ can dance all you want. I’m staying here.”

“What? Never danced before?”

“ _No,_ I’ve _totally_ danced before.”

“Liar,” James teased, a smile creeping up his face.

“Shut up.”

“You and I are going to dance, Percy.”

“No we most definitely are not.”

James was full-on grinning as he grabbed Percy by the hand and drug him into the main area of the ballroom. Percy was obviously in a daze as James straightened him up, put his right arm around Percy’s waist, and began dancing.

“Come on, Percy, it’s just stepping in a rhythm. Knit one, purl two....” James whispered teasingly, being quiet so that none of the old men (former Kingsman agents) could hear them talking.

“That’s fucking knitting, you twat,” Percy whispered back angrily.

“Same difference. It’s all about a pattern.”

“Oh, so this pattern involves your hand on my ass?”

“Yes. Pull yourself together, Percy, it’s not that hard.” James joked.

Percy sighed with frustration. “Hard? Hard like you? Don’t think I don’t feel that, James.”

“Oh, goody, you’re finally calling me James! At least I got one good thing out of this.”

Before Percy could reply, James spun around and landed Percy into a dip, and laughed at Percy’s surprised little scream. “Don’t worry, lovely, I’ve got you.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather me refer to you only as Agent Percival?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’ll have to buy me dinner first.” James pulled Percy back up into a standing position and continued dancing.

“You know, everyone is looking at us.”

“So? Let them look. We’re doing marvelously.”

“We’re the only pair of men dancing, James.”

“Not really, considering we all know that Agents Merlin and Galahad are doing much more than dancing in the bathroom.”

Percy groaned. “If Arthur wasn’t going to stab me if I left this party, I would.”

“Well, he can’t get mad at you if you help a drunk friend get home, can he?”

“Are you implying you pretend that you’re pissed so that I can leave the party?”

“Yes.”

“You might get in trouble for daring to get drunk in front of the former agents.”

“It’s worth it if I can get you home, and, hopefully, in your pants.”

“Shut the fuck up.”


End file.
